


Yours, Mine, Ours

by ProneToRelapse



Series: The Thot Sent By CyberLife [4]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Bottom Hank, Drunk Sex, Humor, Jealous Connor, Jealousy, M/M, Marking, Markus is a bro, Possessive Connor, Smut, This porn wasn't supposed to have feelings what the fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 13:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15414411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: Hank's an attractive man, of course people are going to notice him. Doesn't mean Connor has to like it.





	Yours, Mine, Ours

**Author's Note:**

> just suspend belief for a bit while reading this. androids have been upgraded so they can drink. thirinol is my headcanon substance for android's to get drunk on. it's a portmanteau of thirium/ethanol. bc i'm so creative :/
> 
> jealous connor is my fucking jam, okay?

Even if it’s a somewhat jarring experience, Connor is quite glad to know that despite his manufactured origin, his deviancy has rendered him just as flawed as a flesh and blood human. His emotions get the best of him, he gets frustrated when he can’t understand feelings triggered by pseudo-chemical impulses. He’s discovered that he’s a proud creature, buoyed by praise and recognition, if teetering slightly on the border of vanity.  

 

It’s refreshing to be something imperfect.  

 

Connor wouldn’t trade his deviancy for anything. He recognises just how lucky he is to have his place in this new cohabited world, his place at the DPD by Hank’s side. Things are far from easy, but at the end of the day Connor has a home to return to when the strain of work is too much. He has a safe place full of warmth and love waiting for him when he needs to forget the awful things humans and androids will do to themselves and each other.  

 

All in all, it’s a better life than Connor had ever wished for himself.  

 

Up until now, anyway.  

 

Because Connor, flawed and proud man that he is, is also  _tenaciously_  stubborn. A trait he possessed even before he broke through his coding to be free. If anything it’s amplified now, which is the reason why Connor is sitting in an android-friendly hole in the wall, glaring moodily into a glass of thirinol complete with little green cocktail umbrella. He’s taken a leaf out of Hank’s book by coming here and ignoring his problems. But to err is human and to err is also deviated android, apparently. And Connor is very much erring right now.  

 

“Couples argue,” Markus says, sitting across from him. His tone is even, reasonable. “You think Simon and I don’t have our differences?” 

 

“Yes, but then you interface and understand each other’s problems,” Connor points out. He frowns as he slurs slightly over the sibilance in his words, but his diagnostics are currently too slow to detect any problems so he isn’t sure why.  

 

“Connor, your vocabulary is programmed with hundreds of thousands of words in the English language.” 

 

“One-point-zero-two-five million,” Connor corrects him haughtily.  

 

“Yeah, exactly. So I think you’ll be able to explain how you feel.” 

 

“But I don’t  _know_  how I feel,” Connor laments. “It’s pathetic, there’s still so much I don’t understand. And Hank is the one I go to for that and I can’t because this doesn’t make any sense. And now he thinks I’m angry at him and I  _am,_ but not really.” 

 

Connor’s tongue feels heavy. He takes another sip of his drink to see if it will help. It doesn’t and now the glass is empty. Markus carefully takes it out of his hand and moves it away from him where it is promptly snatched up by a cleaning android.  

 

“Don’t get another,” Markus cautions. “You’ve had plenty.” 

 

Connor doesn’t pout. (He does.) 

 

“I just… I feel…” Connor struggles. “Icky.” 

 

“Icky.” 

 

“Yeah. Gross. Inside.” 

 

“Okay…?” 

 

Connor heaves a dramatic sigh and throws his hands up, optical drives glitching a little and making him feel dizzy. Oh. He’s really quite drunk. Thirinol is fascinating stuff. “I just!” Connor flaps his hands. “Hank!” 

 

Markus’ smile is wide and amused. “I got that part. What’s the real issue here?” 

 

Connor scowls. “People pay him attention. Which is fine. But I always scan them and they’re exhibiting all the traits of sexual attraction. Which is—“ His sternum jolts unpleasantly and his artificial lungs contract sharply. He ignores it. “-Understandable because Hank is…  _Hank_ _._ But he’s  _my_  Hank. And then I feel angry and sad and scared all at once and my stomach hurts— I don’t even have a stomach, Markus! I have a membrane pouch for the biochemical breakdown of ingested matter!” 

 

“That  _is_  your stomach, Connor. “ 

 

“…My point still stands.” 

 

“You haven’t really got a point, but I get it, I think. You’re jealous.” 

 

Connor snorts. “No, I’m not—“ He freezes, eyes wide. “Oh my god, I  _am_.” 

 

Markus nods once, a slow, exaggerated thing that radiates smugness. “You’re jealous of people being attracted to Hank. Of other people wanting him. That’s probably the most human emotion there is.” 

 

“I don’t like it,” Connor mumbles. “Oh, god, I’m an idiot.” 

 

“Connor.” Markus reaches out to pat his arm. “You’re an advanced prototype with masses of information at your disposal.” 

 

“Thanks, Markus—“ 

 

“But, yeah, you’re pretty goddamn stupid.” 

 

He grins at Connor’s disparaging scowl. “Look, go home. Sleep this off, then  _talk_  to Hank. Tell him you’re sorry you’ve been acting off and taking this out on him. Tell him you’re jealous. He’ll understand.” 

 

Connor frowns, not quite sure of which Markus to focus on. He didn’t know the other android could clone himself. That seems like something Connor should have known. He settles on focusing on neither, optical drives glazing over, white sclera and brown iris deactivating to reveal his black and gold undisguised sensors. “You’re making it sound like I’m in the wrong here.” 

 

“You are. And you’ve also had way too much to drink. Come on. I’ve called you a cab.” 

 

Connor resents being hauled around like an oversized doll, but is somewhat grateful when he tries to take a step and nearly crumbles to the floor. Markus leads him outside and the cool air feels nice on his overheated dermal sensors.  

 

“Let me know when you’re home,” Markus says, helping Connor into the taxi. “And let me know how it goes with Hank.  _Tomorrow._ You don’t want to have this kind of conversation drunk.” 

 

“Promise,” Connor says, smiling serenely. “I’ll wait until tomorrow.” He slumps down across the seats in the back. “Love you, Markus.” 

 

The android’s laughter is low and soft. “Yeah, love you, too, Connor.” 

 

The drive is short and uneventful and, thankfully, by the time the cab pulls up outside the house, Connor is able to exit the vehicle and head up to the front door with only minimal staggering. He really likes this upgrade. He feels fuzzy and light. If a little loose-limbed.  

 

Now if only he could get his key in the door.  

 

Miraculously, the door opens without Connor having to do much, but the loss of the support he was leaning on sends him tumbling face down onto the floor. His pain receptors jolt uncomfortably, but he doesn’t do himself any real damage.  

 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Hank demands from above him. Connor turns his face to the side, cheek pressed against the carpet so he can squint up at the human with one eye. “Connor, you’re fucking plastered.” 

 

“No,” Connor says, voice garbled. “I’m actually  polyvinyl chloride-based titanium alloyed.” 

 

“You’re  _drunk_ , you asshole.” 

 

“Oh. Yes, that, too.” 

 

“Jesus Christ.” Hank hauls him upright. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” 

 

“I wanted to have a drink and avoid you,” Connor says, lolling in Hank’s grip. “Because we argued. Because I’m jealous. Did you know that? I am. Very jealous. Markus told me so.” 

 

“Wait, what?” 

 

Connor hums. “Jealous. Me. That’s why I said… The stuff. Earlier. I was angry. Took it out on you. Bad.” 

 

Hank doesn’t reply, just grunts and drags Connor’s arm round his shoulders to haul him through to the bedroom. He dumps the android rather unceremoniously onto the bed and kneels down to tug his shoes off.  

 

“Jealous, huh?” He finally says, tossing the shoes across the floor.  

 

“ _So_  jealous,” Connor agrees. The bed sheets are so  _soft._ Have they always been this soft. Connor wriggles, rubbing his hands over them. Hank is leaning over him now, unbuttoning his shirt. “Remember the barista who gave you that free coffee?” 

 

“Uh… Oh. Yeah, I remember.” 

 

“I wanted to physically fight her. She wrote her phone number on the cup.” 

 

“She did?” 

 

Connor looks at Hank and narrows his eyes. Or he tries to. He just closes them. “You didn’t notice?” 

 

“Connor, tell me, in all of these instances that made you jealous, when have I ever shown any interest back?” 

 

“That’s not the point!” Connor throws his arms wide, the backs of his hands slapping the mattress. “You’re  _my_ Hank! And I want everyone to know it.” A heavy weight settles on his abdomen and Connor peels his uncooperative eyes open. Hank is sitting astride him. Or a blurry shape that resembles Hank’s vague shape is.  

 

“So do it,” Hank says, reaching for Connor’s hands. He brings them up to his chest and Connor feels soft hair and warm skin under his palms. When had Hank taken his shirt off? “Make people know I’m yours.” 

 

In his inebriated state, it takes Connor a moment to process the rising of his core temperature, and the message that pops up in his vision to let him know his thirium flow has been successfully diverted to his lower body. Hank rocks his hips pointedly and the gasp Connor gives feels like it’s been punched out of him.  

 

“Hank, I’m drunk.” 

 

“Yeah, me too. What’s the problem?” 

 

Connor really doesn’t have a good argument for that. Instead, he slides his hands up to Hank’s broad shoulders and pulls him roughly down for a kiss. It’s messy and their teeth click together but it’s warm and wet and so good that Connor doesn’t care. The scratch of Hank’s beard against his face is delightful, the solid weight of Hank above him and the press of his thighs around his waist a heady, seductive thing.  

 

“Fuck me,” Hank growls against his mouth, teeth sinking into Connor’s lower lip.  

 

“Nngh,” Connor says, giving a muffled yelp as hank rolls onto his back, hauling Connor on top of him.  

 

It’s wildly uncoordinated, the way Hank shoves his boxers down, the fabric tangling round one ankle as he tries to kick them off. Connor isn’t fairing much better, fine motor skills dulled by the thirinol in his system so he can do little more than just shove his trousers halfway down his thighs. It does the job, freeing his cock to the hot air in the between them and he gives it a few loose tugs while Hank rummages through the bedside table for the lube. 

 

Connor slicks his fingers liberally, spearing Hank with two at once and enjoying the way the human’s back arches, hands flying up to grip the headboard. They’re practiced enough know that Connor knows exactly what Hank can take and what he cannot, and even drunk he knows his lover’s limits.  

 

“Fuck, Connor,” Hank gasps, pressing his face against his arm. His cheeks are delightfully flushed and Connor curls his fingers deeper to coax a shudder out of him.  

 

“Gonna mark you,” Connor says, voice modulation software failing. His tone glitches and crackles, rippling with static. “So everyone knows who you belong to.” 

 

“Do it,” Hank pants through clenched teeth. “God, fucking do it.” 

 

Once relaxed and loosened, Connor withdraws his fingers from Hank’s hole and lines his cock up. It takes a few false starts and muttered curses, but finally he slides in, both of them moaning in tandem when Connor bottoms out.  

 

“Fucking—“ Hank gasps, headboard creaking under his grip. “Which fucking cock are you wearing?” 

 

“Two… Number two-six-nine-two, I th-think?” Connor can’t remember, doesn’t have enough processing power to check because Hank is so hot and tight around him.  

 

“Fuck yeah,” Hank groans. “That’s my favourite…” 

 

“Good.” Connor slowly draws his hips back, then slams forward hard.  

 

Hank’s cry is a beautiful sound. Driven purely by sensation and instinct, Connor lifts his lover’s right leg over his shoulder and leans forward, groaning as the new angle lets him hit deeper, to sink his teeth into Hank’s neck. The human beneath him writhes and pants, moaning hoarsely as Connor assaults his throat, dragging pretty lilac bruises up to the surface of skin. Delicate little bite marks dot the expanse of neck and shoulder but Connor can’t stop himself, biting harder, sucking more and more marks into the hot, soft skin.  

 

“ _Connor_ -“ Hank chokes, large hands clutching at him, pulling him closer. Connor growls, can’t help himself, hips pistoning, driving into that spot that makes Hank go wild. He loves it, he can taste Hank’s sweat on his tongue,  _lactic acid salt ammonia,_ the scent of whiskey and thirinol filling his nose along with the thick, heady scent of sex and desire. It’s too much for Connor’s overloaded processors to handle. All unneeded systems are shut down until all he can do is want and feel and love.  

 

Hank spills between them the second Connor wraps a hand around his cock, crying out sharply, head thrown back and toes curling. Connor moans, low and long, burying himself to the hilt as he follows, climax rippling through him in a dull roar. They sat into a tangled heap, Connor’s face wedges into Hank’s neck, legs splayed haphazardly, tangled around each other in an impossible knot of limbs.  

 

“Fuck,” Hank breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Holy fuck.” 

 

“Mmmmmmnnh,” Connor says into his neck, and feels the soft, answering rumble of Hank’s breathless laughter more than he feels it. He’s so warm and comfortable. Stasis feels so incredibly inviting now.  

 

“Ugh, get off of me, you hunk of plastic,” Hank complains, shoving at him weakly. “I’m covered in come and I’m sweating, I need to clean off.” 

 

“No,” Connor mumbles, tightening his grip. “Mine.” 

 

Hank sighs but his hands find their way into Connor’s hair regardless, scratching softly through the messy curls.  

 

“Love you,” he murmurs. “I gotta say, jealous you is kinda hot.” 

 

“Noted,” Connor slurs. “Love you, too.” 

 

The marks on Hank’s neck don’t fade for a solid week and a half. He wears them with a visible pride that sends a deep thrum of satisfaction through Connor’s artificial veins. It’s so flawed. So human.  

 

So perfect.  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus:
> 
> "Will you two stop being so publicly disgusting?" Gavin gripes, scowling at Connor over his coffee. "You're giving Nines ideas. He damn near ripped my throat out last night." He tugs down the collar of his uncustomary turtleneck. Deep purple bruises and bite marks litter the column of his throat. He winces and lets the collar slip back against his skin.
> 
> "Pity he didn't," Connor murmurs, stirring sugar into Hank's coffee.
> 
> "What was that, asshole?"
> 
> "Nothing, Detective."


End file.
